


Endlichkeit

by sayakamikiswife



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Drama, M/M, Romance, Smut, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayakamikiswife/pseuds/sayakamikiswife
Summary: “I promise that I will bring you a flower for every day that we meet. And I promise that there won’t be a day on which we can no longer meet.”The year is 1947, and Feliciano Vargas has known little of the world beyond his small rural village. After losing his vision at ten and losing his parents to the Second World War, Feliciano has learned how to thoroughly conceal his loneliness and insecurities behind a curtain of optimism and naivete.Ludwig Beilschmidt has known little comfort. Born into a once influential and wealthy family forced to flee a country ravaged by war, He spends his days working to support his brother and father. Intelligent and ambitious, Ludwig aspires to study engineering in the United States and to make a name for himself as well as provide for his family.When Ludwig moves into Feliciano’s village, the latter is delighted for a change to the monotony of his daily life. Neither men, beaten down by war and battling the constant current of time, expected that they would become the center of each other’s lives.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

August, 1947

Feliciano was certainly tired.

He had spent the entire morning and noon handling chores around their little cottage. He washed the clothes, hung them to dry on the clothesline, milked the cows, watered the garden, and cooked some porridge for his grandfather and older brother. Now, he was waiting for a cake he had prepared to finish baking. Usually, the latter two would’ve allowed the blind runt of their family to sleep in while they busied themselves with the arduous morning labor, but Feliciano found himself rather restless the previous night and was therefore eager to wake up early. Although handling the chores without the benefit of eyesight was admittedly difficult for the Italian, Feliciano persisted.

After all, their village had new arrivals coming by noon.

It was rare for such a discreet region to receive newcomers. Despite Feliciano’s tendency to socialize with as many people as possible whenever he visited the marketplace, he often found the monotony of their little farmhouses draining. “I might as well be blind,” Feliciano’s grandpa once said, “Nothing good to see in this town. Just brick and wood, brick and wood. Brown, tan, some beige to spice things up. Gardens and cows and pigs and sheep and shit everywhere. Pretty women, though. A pity I’ve been with all of them already.”

However, finally, there would be a change in their village. New neighbors! And more importantly, foreign neighbors! Feliciano had been told by his grandfather, Augustus, that they had left Germany following the catastrophic war, and that the father was an old friend. Lovino, Felicino’s older brother, had immediately soured at the thought of German neighbors. Feliciano, fortunately, was not as pessimistic, as Augustus had noted that “this family wished that Germany had not chosen the path that it did, and they are a great lot of people, strong and honest.”

Feliciano’s enthusiasm was interrupted by a familiar voice coming from behind—that of Lovino’s.

“I’ll never understand you sometimes.”

Puzzled, the younger turned and reached for his stick, making his way to his brother. “What do you mean, fratello?”

“You go from sleeping for entire weeks to insisting on doing all our chores for us early in the morning over some damn krauts,” Lovino responded.

“Don’t call them that,” Feliciano snapped back, “Nonno told us that they’re strong and honest people.”

“Strong and honest? No German can be strong and honest, not in this day ‘n age. Maybe a hundred years ago, but not now. You can’t be sure of this family ‘til you met them, and have you met them yet? No, you haven’t. But I bet they’re gonna be a lot of stuck-ups.”

“I haven’t met them, but you haven’t either. They’re coming soon; you should at least try to be nicer,” Feliciano frowned, turning back to the oven. “Is the cake cooked yet?”

“Yeah,” Lovino replied exasperatedly, “now take it out ‘n let it rest before it burns.” He handed his little brother mittens.

Hurriedly, Feliciano donned the mittens and opened the oven, gently pulling the tray out. He rested it on the table before asking, “How does it look? Has it risen right? Is it even? Can you see any burnt parts? Can you poke something in it to make sure it’s not raw?”

“Listen, you’re overreacting. It’s fine, so—”

The sounds of a car engine sounded.

“Fuck,” Lovi muttered.

“Mio Dio! They’re here!” Feliciano exclaimed.

Carelessly picking up the cake and pushing Lovino out of the way, Feliciano stormed out of the door and to Augustus, who was already walking toward the small black vehicle with extended arms.

“Merda! Rallenta il cazzo!” Lovino hollered as he sauntered in their direction.

Feliciano would’ve fallen if not for Augustus, who steadied his grandson. “Calm now, bambino. They’ve just arrived.”

“Sorry, Nonno,” came a sheepish reply from Feliciano.

“Ciao! Aldrich, aren’t you as tall, dark, and handsome as ever,” Augustus bellowed.

That was when Feliciano realized that he was likely right in front of the new family. He beamed in the direction he believed the newcomers to be in, subtly showing off his cake. Not soon after, Lovino stopped by his side with a huff.

“And aren’t you as welcoming as ever,” came the sarcastic response. “Are these your grandsons, Augustus?”

Feliciano beamed brighter.

“Yes, Lovino and Feliciano,” Augustus said.

Although Lovino did not offer a greeting that Feliciano could hear, the latter was not shy in expressing his camaraderie. “Hi! I’m Feliciano, but I think you already know that, but I just wanted to make sure since sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between me and Lovino. Sorry if he’s a bit distant, he’s just like that. Oh, and I baked a cake for you! It’s fresh, too, and I think it tastes good. It’s just that I just took it out of the oven and then you came, so I didn’t get the chance to taste it, but I hope you like it anyway.”

There was a brief pause, and Aldrich made a noise that sounded like he was choking on his own shock. Then he said, in a voice that Feliciano noticed was deeper and sterner than anything he’d heard, “Thank you for that. I’ll have my own sons carry it. They’ll like it.” Another pause. “Gilbert, how long does it take to unload luggage?”

“Apparently longer than five minutes,” came a raspy response. Feliciano noted that Gilbert sounded a lot like a young, screaming boy whose throat happened to be sore from all that screaming, but who still continued screaming nonetheless.

“Maybe if you didn’t throw in all your luggage and had arranged them neatly, we wouldn’t be struggling this much,” came another response. This voice sounded much like Aldrich’s, except younger, and smoother. More tender.

“Piss off, Ludwig. It’s your books that crammed the trunk up,” Gilbert retorted.

Ludwig didn’t respond. After some scuffling and grunts and cursing, the two finally unloaded their luggage and walked over to the Italian family.

“Ludwig, Gilbert, say hello to the Vargases. This is an old and dear friend of mine, Augustus. These are Feliciano and Lovino, his grandchildren,” Aldrich introduced, “and as you can see, Feliciano baked a cake for you two.”

The five shook hands and greeted one another, although Lovino was clearly less keen on befriending two German brothers.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you blind?” Gilbert inquired.

“Manners,” Ludwig snapped, swatting his brother on the arm.

“Christ, I was just wondering.”

Feliciano didn’t mind. He understood that Gilbert meant no harm, and this wasn’t the first time he received these questions, though they usually came from children. “It’s all right,” Feliciano said, “and yes, I am. But I don’t mind! I used to see, when I was little, but then my eyesight gradually went away. By the time I was ten, it was totally gone.”

A pause.

“Oh.” Gilbert’s voice had seemingly lost all of the vigor it once possessed, an echo of its former self. “I’m sorry.”

Another pause.

“All right, all right,” Lovino said, “here’s your cake.” He took the cake from his brother’s hold, handing it to one of the Germans. “Nice meeting you, I guess,” he added.

A short farewell was exchanged between the two before the new family headed off to their own cottage, a settlement that was quite close to that of Feliciano’s. He could hear the somewhat distant noise of their vehicle parking.

When the trio returned to their home, Feliciano asked what he always asked: “What did they look like?”

“Like Germans,” Lovino curtly replied.

Feliciano rolled his eyes.

“That Gilbert fellow looked rather interesting. Hair as silver as lightning, eyes red like a cherry. He had a toothy smile; whenever he grinned the sharp teeth at the back of his mouth always poked through. Always looked like he was up to something, even though he probably wasn’t. Skin as white as your canvases. Pretty scrawny too, though not small. Shortest of the three,” Augustus started, “Aldrich’s got blond hair, I guess, but the man’s so old it might as well be white like Gil’s. Blue eyes, just like I remember ‘em. A bit less lively and bright, since he’s an old man like your nonno, but still vibrant in their own right. Tall, domineering. A figure that matches his voice. Ludwig’s a spitting image of the man, honestly. A bit taller, not significantly so. Hair yellow like the shining sun. Slicked back, so I could tell he was a pretty formal kid. Tall and strong like his father. Blue eyes.”

Feliciano’s bright smile returned at the mention of blue eyes. Even though he saw blue eyes in paintings and children’s books’ illustrations during his childhood, he had never met a person with blue eyes before. “Are Ludwig’s eyes like Aldrich’s? Are they brighter? Are they like the sky? Are they dark? Are they kind of green? Kind of gray? Do they have some brown mixed in them? I heard a lot of blue-eyed people have brown mixed in their eye color, too.”

“They’re just like the sky, bambino. Just like the sky,” Augustus replied.

Feliciano smiled down at himself. “I want to get to know them,” he decided.

Lovino groaned.

“I’m serious! I can’t wait for tomorrow. Should I bring some pasta over this time? I’m known for my pasta,” Feliciano said.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“But you should, Lovi! You’re gonna be living with them for a while, so you might as well adapt,” Feliciano argued, heedless of his brother’s attitude.

“I am adapting,” Lovino responded. “I’m ignoring their existence as much as possible and interacting with them as little as possible.”

To that, Feliciano did little but give an exasperated sigh. Lovino was Lovino, and neither he nor the emperor of the universe could do very much to change him. Nevertheless, Feliciano’s eagerness continued on, keeping him awake through the night.

It was strange; Feliciano typically slept long and well, but he once again found himself burning the candle on both ends twice in a row.

The sun had not yet risen when Feliciano climbed out of bed, reaching for his stick and stealthily sneaking out of his and Lovino’s bedroom, vigilant as to not stir his brother.

Though Feliciano seldom found trouble sleeping, he would leave his room and venture outside, sit on the swinging chair that hung from the branch of a massive olive tree in front of his house, and swing idly until he was rocked to sleep.

Then he heard the sound of steps, some rustling, cussing, what sounded to either be German or Dutch, and vomiting. Standing up with a jolt, Feliciano called, “Is everyone all right? What happened? Who’s there?”

“Don’t worry,” came a calm but weary response, “it’s just Ludwig and Gilbert.” It was definitely Ludwig talking.

“Oh. Why are you out so early? Or late?”

Ludwig replied again. “Gilbert decided to get drunk at a tavern and sleep over with a few girls. I usually wake up at this time. I didn't find him at home, so I dragged him here myself,” he explained.

“Oh. Do you need help? You sound tired,” Feliciano said.

“It’s just the travel. No worries, I can—”

Before Ludwig could finish his sentence, Feliciano clumsily ran in their direction, stick in hand, and said, “No, I insist!”

After some struggling and confusion, Ludwig eventually managed to wrap one of Gilbert’s heavy arms over Feliciano’s shoulder. “You really don’t have to,” the German said. “He’s usually like this; it’s nothing I’m new to.”

“And you’re always up early too, but that doesn’t mean you’re never tired, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Then just ‘cause you always carry Gilbert around doesn’t mean you never need help!” Feliciano reasoned with a beam.

Ludwig paused. He made that weird noise that sounded like he was choking on his own shock again, as if words were jammed in his throat. Feliciano wondered what his face must’ve looked like then. Well, Feliciano wondered what his face must’ve looked like at all.

The two silently carried Gilbert back to his residence. “Thank you for your help,” Ludwig said. “I’ll carry him to bed now.”

“I can wait out here,” Feliciano offered.

Ludwig paused again. “Why?”

“You said you usually wake up early. Doesn’t that mean you have work to do? I want to help.”

“I do, but no need. I can handle this on my own. Father is too old now, and Gilbert too worn and...drunk, usually. This is normal, and farm work is easy compared to other things I’ve done,” Ludwig reasoned.

“Please? I want to be with you. Nobody comes around here.” Feliciano attempted a smile.

Now Ludwig’s pause was more sudden. He’d never heard someone beg for his company. He made those choking noises over and over, as if he were struggling to push some words out but they were simply too stubborn. Finally, he said, “Let’s come to a deal.”

“What deal?” Feliciano perked, like a cat.

“If you want to...be with me so much, then we can go to the town square later today when I’m finished with my work,” Ludwig said.

And that was a deal Feliciano easily settled on. He agreed enthusiastically.

“Good. Now, I’ll return you to your home, and please don’t linger out here for too long. It’s rather cold,” Ludwig said.

After their short walk home, Feliciano turned on his heels to face the other man. Before he could open his mouth to speak though, calloused fingers touched his chin and lifted his face up. Those fingers lingered there for half a second too long, then were quickly retracted. Ludwig cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly, stumbled over incoherent words, then froze. “Sorry, you were, um, staring at my chest,” he excused.

“It’s all right,” Feliciano replied with a gentle smile. “I was just going to make you pinkie-promise,” he said, extending his pinkie toward the German.

“P-pinkie-promise? On what?” Ludwig questioned.

“On going out to town with me today. You have to promise! Say ‘I, Ludwig...um...Ludwig—’”

“Beilschmidt.”

“Say ‘I, Ludwig Beilschmidt, promise to go out with Feliciano Vargas this afternoon.’”

Ludwig sighed. Then, awkwardly, he said, “I, Ludwig Beilschmidt, promise to go out with Feliciano Vargas this afternoon.”

Their pinkies intertwined, and it was a promise sworn on.

Even as Ludwig was leaving, Feliciano stood still on his porch, staring off into Ludwig’s general direction until he could no longer hear the young man’s footsteps. The content smile never left his face.

That day, Feliciano slept through the entire morning despite Lovino’s angry efforts to awaken him.

For the first time in what felt like millennia, Feliciano dreamt. It was a vague, blurry dream, but a dream nonetheless. He saw hair golden like the shining sun, and eyes bluer than the clear sky. He felt calloused, hesitant fingers under his chin. He heard a voice, stern and strong, yet gentler than a lullaby.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Lovino snapped.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” Feliciano said, buttoning his shirt and wrapping an old worn capelet around his shoulders. “I was about to ask you to walk me over to the Beilschmidts’.”

Lovino was flabbergasted. “Why the fuck are you going over there? Wait, are the Beilschmidts the new kraut family?”

“Yes, actually,” Feliciano responded matter-of-factly.

“How in the hell do you know their last names? If I remember correctly, it was never brought up.” Lovino narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Ludwig told me this morning,” Feliciano responded in the same matter-of-fact tone. “I talked to him this morning when you were still asleep. He’s very nice, you know.”

“One day and you’re already up close ‘n personal with a German?”

“I’m just trying to make friends. Nobody comes here anymore, and any foreigners here have been here since the war started.”

“So? What business do you have with him anyway? Don’t tell me you’re up to that bullshit ag—”

“I told you not to bring him up!”

“Well, I’m just trying to fuckin’ warn you! You want us to get our asses kicked to hell ‘n back again, eh?”

“No, I don’t! And I’m not trying to do anything that would cause that to happen again, so stop assuming things!”

“Are you suggesting that my ‘assumptions’ aren’t valid?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Then you’re an idiot! Fuckin’ bastard, walkin’ around town hand-in-hand with a guy like that, and a German at that.”

“You are such a—”

“Boys, boys!”

Augustus’s voice bellowed from outside the cottage. Soon after, he appeared through the doorway, hanging his hat up. “What’s the matter with you two?” he demanded.

Lovino explained the situation with clear distaste, while Feliciano remained silent. He was not going to try to speak over an angry Lovino Vargas; any attempts would be futile and met with aggression.

“I say we let him go,” Augustus said.

“What the fuck? What do you think everyone would think of him? Of us?”

“Let them think what they want to think,” Augustus retorted. “You’re a Vargas, not a sheep. I thought I raised you better than that. Stop harassing your brother and let him be.” Then he turned to a sullen Feliciano. “I can walk you over there if you want,” he offered.

Feliciano managed a slight smile. “Thank you, Nonno.”

Ludwig paced anxiously outside the Vargas residence. He could’ve sworn he heard shouting coming from inside, although he could barely make it out.

Finally, Augustus emerged from the doorway with Feliciano in hand, the latter wearing a slight smile on his face. Ludwig doubts that he has seen Feliciano frown for longer than a second in their short time knowing one another.

“Sorry about the delay,” Augustus apologized awkwardly when he approached the blond.

“It’s no problem, I understand,” Ludwig said.

After a brief exchange and farewell, Augustus watched as Ludwig departed with his grandson, the two figures growing smaller in the distance.

“You kept your promise!” Feliciano chirped when they were out of Augustus’s earshot.

Ludwig curtly nodded. Then he remembered that Feliciano was sightless, and internally kicked himself for forgetting so. “Of course I did,” he said. “I don’t break agreements.”

“You’re so serious,” Feliciano said, lowering his voice so as to mimic Ludwig’s.

Ludwig stuttered. “I—I don’t sound like that!” he protested.

That only worsened Feliciano’s mimicry. “I don’t sound like that!”

Face beet-red and eager to change the subject, Ludwig said, “Father told me of a little cafe here. I heard the pastries were good, and I brought enough money to pay for us both, so I was wondering if you’d be keen on going?”

Feliciano didn’t respond too quickly. His expression was unreadable, and Ludwig feared that he would decline. Fortunately, the Italian finally agreed, “I’d be happy to.”

Ludwig wondered why Feliciano’s reaction was more delayed and reluctant than usual, but didn’t dwell on it. “Sorry about Gilbert last night,” the blond mustered.

“It’s no problem at all,” Feliciano said. “Lovino gets like that too, usually on the weekends. He goes to every tavern this village has to offer and wears the best clothes he has. He picks the most expensive flowers he can buy from the florist, and he makes me and Nonno help him cook the most delicious food we can. Then he offers what he has to almost every girl in those taverns, but he’s seldom successful. When he’s unsuccessful, he stumbles home drunk and barely conscious. When he is, he feebly maintains a relationship with the girl until she leaves him, and then stumbles home drunk after that.”

Ludwig struggled to find words. What was he to say to that? Would he apologize? Would he offer similar stories of Gilbert’s failures with women in order to relate? Would he laugh it off? Instead, he said, “I am not sure your brother is fine with you disclosing such information to me. He doesn’t seem fond of me or my family as it is, so—”

“Lovino doesn’t care,” Feliciano’s voice grew low. Was it bitterness? Sorrow? Pity? Shame? All of those at once? Ludwig couldn’t identify. “Everyone in town knows, Lovino has learned to brush off the rumors. He learned to brush everything off.”

In a way, Gilbert Beilschmidt was not too different.

During the earlier days of the war, Ludwig’s family had done a thorough job of evading the eyes of the Gestapo and potential whistle-blowers. However, as time progressed, former friends and neighbors began to whisper and gossip about the Beilschmidt clan.

“...under their floors…”

“...traitors…”

“...within their walls…”

“...send them off…”

In spite of those whispers, Gilbert told Ludwig to stand strong. Chin up, chest puffed, back straight, shoulders back. Pretend as if they’re the buzzing of gnats, because that’s what they are. You are a Beilschmidt, you were born strong and you will stay strong. Whispers are only whispers. There is no proof, not really, not yet. Don’t give those little whispers meaning.

Thankfully, before the whispers could grow, the war ended, and all three Beilschmidts heaved a sigh of relief. However, of course, Germany never returned to true peace and order.

“We’re on the wrong side,” Aldrich had said. Though his words were vague, Gilbert and Ludwig both knew what he meant. “We’re leaving,” he decided.

Ludwig was frozen in shock that day. Germany was all he had known. But Gilbert was stoic. He accepted it, nodded, then agreed to help prepare for their departure.

Gilbert Beilschmidt didn’t break down, not in front of Ludwig. So Ludwig learned to do the same. Ludwig didn’t break down, not in front of others.

“Did Lovino fight in the war?” Ludwig asked. Gilbert did, for a time.

The town square was visible now. Ludwig could make out the busy yet idle movements of everyday people going about their everyday tasks.

“He was never conscripted, so I suppose not,” Feliciano responded, though his answer sounded quite uncertain. “I don’t know much about war, admittedly,” Feliciano added.

Of course he didn’t. No blind man can fight on the battlefield. “How old were you and your brother?” Ludwig asked.

“Well, I was only nine when the war started and fifteen when it ended. Lovino was eleven when the war started and seventeen when it ended,” Feliciano explained.

So Feliciano was the same age as Ludwig, while Lovino was just two years older. All three were too young to fight, all three just lucky enough to avoid the terrors of war.

Gilbert was not as lucky. When the war started, he was sixteen, just barely old enough to be conscripted.

As they quietly approached town, Feliciano whispered, “Ludwig, can we not pass the tavern by the bakery?”

“What? Why?”

“Please.”

Ludwig conceded. “All right.”

Feliciano offered a tiny smile. The boy smiled at anything. “Thank you.”

After a few awkward seconds of silence, Feliciano said, “I don’t understand why men fight so much.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Are you referring to the war?” he asked.

“Yes, mostly, but I also am speaking generally,” Feliciano answered. “Mama always told me that fights were resolved more easily by talking. If Germany didn’t like how it was being treated by Britain, France, and Russia, why not talk? If Germany did want to talk, why did the others refuse? Why did they want to send people to die?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But why not?”

Ludwig was at a loss for words. Was he speaking to a child? Every person over the age of nine should know why wars occurred and that international conflicts were not solved so easily by world leaders merely having a chat over some tea or wine.

“I don’t understand,” Feliciano said weakly, “that’s all.”

“Neither do I.”

Wordlessly, Ludwig led Feliciano to the cafe.

They ate and drank and went about local shops together in spite of their recent and short conversation, Feliciano offering funny childhood stories.

“I used to wear a green maid dress everywhere I went!”

“I used to train with Gilbert, but I only started winning when I turned thirteen.”

“I wouldn’t eat anything that didn’t have tomato or pasta in it.”

“My first time drinking beer was at eleven during Oktoberfest after I insisted on following my brother into a beer hall.”

“I found pictures of naked women under my brother’s bed when I was twelve and screamed so loud Nonno thought someone had died.”

“I found those pictures too, but I didn’t scream.”

During that particular conversation, Feliciano had jokingly commended Ludwig on his courage. Ludwig, taking the compliment more seriously than he should’ve, insisted that there was no such courage behind not screaming over pictures of naked women, stuttering like a madman as he said so. Feliciano was far too amused to explain his own sarcasm.

Ludwig and Feliciano stopped by the flower shop. “This is the flower shop! Right here, this!” Feliciano announced. “I can always detect it from meters away because of the smell. The stronger it gets, the closer I know I am to it,” he boasted.

The Italian’s eyes, in that moment, were glowing with pride. For so simple an achievement, Feliciano was beaming as if he had become the richest man in the world. Ludwig had never witnessed a joy so pure.

Strangely, Ludwig felt a desire to preserve it. He didn’t want to see it leave.

The blond scanned the flowers quickly before stopping at a bundle of sunflowers. Feliciano’s amber eyes. They were like those sunflowers.

“Feliciano,” Ludwig called. Saying his name for the first time was bizarre, Ludwig noticed. When Augustus Vargas had introduced his grandsons, the name ‘Feliciano’ sounded like music, like a flowing breeze, gentle and natural. When Ludwig said that name, it sounded harsher, stiffer. More like a command than a melody.

“Yes?” Feliciano responded. The brunet didn’t seem to notice Ludwig’s too harsh tone.

“Are you familiar with sunflowers?” Ludwig asked. He hoped not to offend.

“Mio Dio, yes! I used to grow some outside with Mama when I was younger. Also, when she read bedtime stories to me, there were many illustrations of sunflowers in the books.”

“Then did you know that your eyes look exactly like them?”

Feliciano’s face changed. He was now looking up at the taller man slowly. His expression grew calmer, smoother, as if everything within him was slowly coming to a halt.

“Your eyes,” Ludwig remained firm, fighting his nervousness and uncertainty, “they’re like sunflowers. They’re bright amber, almost yellow, and they glow.” Ludwig couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Nobody ever talks about my eyes anymore,” Feliciano said, his voice faint.

Those same sunflower-like eyes looked up at Ludwig, brighter than the sun yet mellower than a forest fire. Those eyes were kind, gentle, yet they burned Ludwig from the inside out. The blond realized then that no eyes were like Feliciano’s. His world had been surrounded entirely by cold, unforgiving, judging eyes. Only Aldrich and Gilbert had shown him tenderness, but Aldrich’s tenderness had an unrelenting sternness to it, while beneath Gilbert’s tenderness was a wildness Ludwig could never fully comprehend.

“Thank you,” Feliciano said.

Ludwig bought those sunflowers for Feliciano. As the sun set, small shops and stands lined the street, and people filled almost every space. Brightness from lanterns, signs, candles, and decorative lights of various colors illuminated the town square.

While the pair continued their walk through the marketplace, Feliciano said, “I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

Feliciano turned to Ludwig and raised a finger to his lips, a sly smile on his face, before asking, “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure.”

With that, Feliciano reached out a hand to feel Ludwig’s face. The German jolted back in shock. “What are you doing?”

“Mr. Beilschmidt,” Feliciano said with a huff, “you know exactly what I look like. You know my face shape, my size, my hair, everything. All I know about you is your hair and eye color and that you’re taller than me. That’s hardly fair.”

Not waiting for a response from a flustered Ludwig, Feliciano reached forward with his hand again.

So as Feliciano continued with his efforts, Ludwig stood still and stiff as a mountain. He stood how Gilbert taught him to stand when he was younger: like a soldier. After all, what else was he to do in this situation? He’d never prepared for this; he’d never planned on meeting someone as peculiar as Feliciano Vargas.

As a child and adolescent, Ludwig had primarily known his father and his brother. Of course, Gilbert tried in spite of his wild nature to raise Ludwig to be a proper and strong man. On the other hand, Aldrich was never too emotional around his sons. If they stepped out of line or failed to meet his expectations, he was often disappointed and sometimes angry. If they pleased him, their actions would be met with approval. During Oktoberfest, when Aldrich and Gilbert were too intoxicated for their own goods, they’d jest together. But Ludwig himself was never close to his father.

So what was he to do now, with this stranger whose hands were softer than silk and whose voice sounded like a songbird’s?

“You’re so still, Ludwig. Something is troubling you. What is it? You can tell me, you know,” Feliciano said while finally retracting his hand.

“Nothing.”

Feliciano couldn’t possibly understand.

Ludwig’s word was small, complicated yet simultaneously so simple. He was a Beilschmidt, once affluent and well-to-do, but Germany was at war. Father and elder brother, only trust father and elder brother. Succeed. Go to America. Be safe. He had no time to think. He shouldn’t dwell on the past or the present; he should only strive for the future.

“You’re lying,” Feliciano accused.

“I’m not.”

How did he know? He had spent his entire life in a small village, and although Northern Italy was at war, Feliciano could hardly have known the terrors that Ludwig knew in Berlin. Feliciano was too young to fight, as was his brother. Feliciano was naive, idealistic, sheltered. How could he know?

“Yes, you are,” Feliciano protested.

“And how would you know that?”

“I just do,” Feliciano answered confidently.

In an effort to change the subject, Ludwig asked, “It’s getting dark. Should we return home?”

“Okay, but only if you pinkie-promise to come with me every day from now on,” Feliciano said. His voice was firm and rather authoritative for what it’s worth.

“I can’t, Feliciano,” Ludwig said. “I have work to do. Not just the farm, but other work. Engineering, for universities.”

“But can’t we meet after that? Every evening? You said you woke up early, right?” Feliciano implored. “You can buy me a flower every day!”

“I suppose,” Ludwig agreed. What could be the harm? After a day’s work, he wouldn’t mind some downtime. “Fine, I agree,” the German decided.

“Say—”

“I, Ludwig Beilschmidt, promise to meet Feliciano Vargas here every day, whenever I can. I promise that I will bring you a flower for every day that we meet. And I promise that there won’t be a day on which we can no longer meet.”

“You remembered,” Feliciano said quietly with a smile, looking at Ludwig with an expression the blond failed to decipher. Was it appreciation? Adoration? Pleasant surprise?

“I don’t forget so easily,” Ludwig said, attempting to brush it off. “Let’s go, I don’t want to make your older brother more angry than he usually is.”

“You’re right,” Feliciano replied with a chuckle.

So the two began to leave.

In spite of himself, Ludwig admired how the lights and the colors of the market highlighted every delicate feature on Feliciano’s face. He admired how the warm glow of the lanterns and candles turned Feliciano’s hair into a gentle hearth fire and his eyes into pure gold. This admiration was short-lived, perhaps only five seconds, but to Ludwig it felt like a century. Eventually, the blond caught himself and cleared his throat, turning his gaze away.

“What is it?” Feliciano asked, hearing Ludwig’s grunt.

“Nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyes.
> 
> pruhun introduction next chapter. also, do ya'll think i have too much dialogue? when it write in docs it looks like there's too much description, but now it's sm dialogue. i guess i'm more fit to be a screenwriter then lmao. thank goodness tho, i wanna add more descriptions and internal dialogue. but give me ur thoughts :-). sorry if this chapter was boring, i tried  
> INSTAGRAM: @hetalinut

**Author's Note:**

> s a d :-(
> 
> [FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM @HETALINUT, i'll answer any questions in dms]


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